


Operation: Stop The Crocs

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Fashion Choices, Baker Bitty, First Date, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, meet cute, nhl jack, spilled lattes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Eric Bittle doesn’t understand why his co-workers are so obsessed with NHL Star Jack Zimmermann’s fashion choices.  But unfortunately his understanding doesn’t matter when he gets roped into operation, Stop The Crocs.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowLookingGlass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowLookingGlass/gifts).



> for my favourite- RainbowLookingGlass who is constantly subjected to my whinging about Sid and his Yellow Crocs. You know what you have to do, love. It's the only way.

“Oh my god there it is again.”

“He has to be stopped. I mean…this is an affront to like…humanity or some shit.”

“Who allowed this?”

“Why do they even exist?”

Bitty pushed the swinging door open with his hip, carrying the tray of pasties to the counter, and glanced over to where the two baristas were hovering over the counter, murmuring over Holster’s phone. Shaking his head, he began to transfer the pastries onto the display tray, and he clicked his tongue.

“You boys must have something better to do than twitter.”

“Bits,” Ransom said, holding up his hands, “it isn’t twitter. This like, the most important shit ever.”

“Yeah,” Holster said, nodding sagely. “We’re staging an intervention.”

Bitty stared, one eyebrow raised. “Y’all are kidding me, right? If this is about the butter again I’m going to…”

“No,” Ransom said. “It’s about the crocs.”

Bitty blinked. “The…what?”

“Crocs,” Holster added, as though that would solve Bitty’s confusion. “Zimmermann’s.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Y’all are still on about that.”

Holster cocked one fist onto his hip. “Tell me you’re not as appalled as we are.”

“He’s a grown man. A rich, famous, professional athlete grown man,” Bitty added for emphasis. “If he wants to wear crocs…”

“Yellow,” Ransom all-but shouted. He leapt over the distance and shoved his phone in Bitty’s face. “Yellow crocs. And like, black leggings and blue shorts and that…that shirt. Bits, he looks like he’s trying to rob a Burger King and get caught doing it.”

Bitty wrinkled his nose. The outfit truly was hideous, and the god of a man was wearing black socks to boot, which only made the whole thing worse. But… “I still maintain he’s rich enough to decide for himself what he wants.”

“Bro,” Ransom said, leaning against the counter. “Something has to be done. He lives across from here, I bet we can…” He tapped his chin and looked at Holster.

“Get him in here?” Holster said.

“And then what?” Bitty challenged. “Pin him down, strip him, and burn the clothes? You’d end up in jail and I will not bail y’all out.”

Ransom laughed. “Bro. Now that is an idea.”

“Don’t you dare,” Bitty hissed.

Holster shrugged. “If he had a nice, fashion conscious boyfriend who could convince him those are a travesty and should be laid on a pyre and burnt to ash,” he said with a hum.

“So what?” Bitty challenged. “You’re going to go out back to your boyfriend tree and pick one off and say, Here Mr Zimmermann, to help you with your fashion problem?”

The pair exchanged a look, which made Bitty very nervous. “Or maybe our favourite, most single…”

“Most attractive head baker,” Holster continued.

“Could woo him.” Ransom grinned, toothy and bright.

Bitty blinked, then laughed. “You’re not serious.”

Ransom shrugged. “Why not?” “You are single, and cute, and fashion conscious.”

Bitty huffed, resting his fingers on his hip. “I’m not going to embarrass myself in an attempt to woo a professional athlete just to get him to give up crocs because you don’t like looking at them on your phone. How about just…don’t look him up. Problem solved.”

“Don’t look him up?” Ransom asked with an offended gasp.

“Bits,” Holster finished, “have you seen his ass. It’s god-like. It’s…there is a church dedicated to worshipping it. Asking us not to look up pictures of Jack Zimmermann’s ass is like asking Ransom to give up chicken tenders at the dining hall on Tuesdays.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Bitty said with a huff. He turned on his heel. “I’m going to finish up the mini pies. When I’m done, I’d better not be hearing another word about Jack Zimmermann. His ass, his crocs, or ridiculous interventions. Got it?”

The pair gave Bitty a pout, but he would not be deterred. Jack Zimmermann was attractive, but Bitty would not give in to his co-worker’s antics. He’d been in enough trouble that way in the past, and he was not looking for a repeat.

*** 

Bitty was elbow deep in bread dough when he heard Ransom calling, “Bits! Biiiitttyyy Bit Bits, can you please get counter? We’re having a slight bean crisis back here.”

Bitty huffed, and checked their crappy security camera to see a queue of one at the counter. The grainy shot showed a tall person with short black hair, arms crossed, foot tapping. Bitty groaned, all signs pointing to grouchy customer, and he prepared his, have a free slice of pie on me for the wait speech in hopes he wouldn’t get shouted at again.

Swiping his hands off as best he could, he hurtled through the doors gasping, “I’m so sorry for the wait. I was in the back with the dough and…” His words died when his eyes fell on the deep blues of none other than Jack Zimmermann.

He was looking at Bitty with an appraising stare, one eyebrow slightly turned up. He was dressed less offensively, in trainers, joggers, and a zip-top hoodie that was half undone, revealing a faded Falconers’ t-shirt. He had a beanie on, cocked backward which showed off his boy band fringe, a bit sweaty from his obvious run.

“Uh,” Bitty said, trying to regain his composure. “Sorry for the wait,” he said again.

Zimmermann’s mouth twitched just a little. “It’s okay,” he said, his accent a little heavier than it was in the last video Ransom had forced Bitty to watch. “I just came into grab my free smoothie.”

Bitty blinked. “Free…smoothie?”

Jack reached into his pocket, then put a poorly done, Microsoft paint etched coupon on the counter which read, One Free Smoothie.

Bitty clenched his teeth and his eyes cut to the side door where he saw two flashes of barista head ducking back into the store room. They were so dead. “Right. Yes. Of course, I forgot we’d been giving those out. What sort of smoothie would you like?”

Jack shrugged, shoving one hand into the pocket of his hoodie, and Bitty felt his stomach twist. No man had a right to look this good. “What do you recommend?”

“Well,” Bitty said, leaning on the counter just a bit, telling himself, _don’t flirt, do not flirt, you’re playing right into their hands and you can’t kill them if they were right_. “We do all kinds. Sweet, savoury, healthy, unhealthy. My favourite is the apple pie, but I’m guessing you won’t want something like that just after a run.”

Jack’s mouth twitched even higher, his smile more evident. “Maybe not. Something with a little more protein?”

Bitty smiled. “I can do that. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll bring it right out. Oh…any allergies?”

“Cats,” Jack said with a bigger grin.

Bitty nodded. “Got it. Protein smoothie, hold the cat. Give me five minutes.” He tried not to die when Jack laughed.

_I made Jack Zimmermann giggle,_ , he thought as he scooped frozen banana, peanut butter, ice, soya, chia seeds, and half a scoop of yoghurt into the blender. He switched it on, then turned and eyed his little mini apple pies. On a whim, he grabbed one, popping it into the already warmed convection oven, and when the smoothie was done, he slipped the pie onto the plate, poured the drink into their large, plastic cup, and came round the corner.

Jack had chosen a seat near the window, at the high bar, and had a small paperback open in front of him. He closed the book, the title facing down, and smiled at Bitty as the baker slid the smoothie and pie onto the table.

“Figured at the very least you can try my pie. It’s a mini so it shouldn’t mess up your diet plan too much.”

Jack grinned as he pulled the plate close to him. “My nutritionist doesn’t mind. Game day calories leave room for a little pie.”

Bitty felt his stomach sink, and glanced down at Jack’s trainers which had a little too much yellow in them for his own fashion comfort, but god it didn’t seem to matter against those calves. Jesus. He breathed and looked up. “Well, let me know what you think.”

He thanked every god in the known Universe when the doors to the café opened up, and a handful of customers walked in. He thumbed back at the register, and Jack tipped his cup at Bitty in acknowledgement as he went back to his book.

Ransom and Holster eventually came out of their den of shame, and gave Bitty an only slightly apologetic grin as they went to help out. Bitty rushed back to save his bread, and by the time he was finished, Jack was gone, and his plate was tucked neatly in the dirty dish bin.

Bitty told himself he was not disappointed.

“Jack left this for you,” Ransom said, waving a folded bit of receipt paper.

Bitty snatched it with shaking fingers and unfolded it. In the worst chicken scratch Bitty had ever seen read, **The pie was amazing, and the smoothie wasn’t bad, but it could use more protein. Maybe next time.** With that was a folded up five, in the shape of a swan.

Bitty felt his cheeks heat up, and glowered when Ransom and Holster both high fived.

“Operation woo the crocs away is in full swing,” Holster said.

Bitty shoved his middle finger at them before storming off into the kitchen.

*** 

Bitty did not anticipate the next time he saw Jack, it would be because he was unceremoniously shoved out the café door with a latte in his hand, and straight into the hockey player’s path. Unfortunately it was because he did not anticipate how determined his co-workers (and _ex friends_ ) were to see this plan through, and end the crocs.

For one, Bitty doubted he had the powers of persuasion enough to change Jack’s mind. And for two, he didn’t think seducing a man simply for the sake of bad shoes was a very good idea.

And yet, here he stood, his front covered in latte, Jack staring at him with his mouth curved into a surprise O, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Are you okay?”

Bitty grimaced, the hot liquid steaming against his arm. He glanced through the door and before he could take a step toward it, he saw Ransom flick the lock and flip the open sign to closed. “Yeah,” Bitty said with a sigh. “Just plotting murder. How are you, Mr Zimmermann?”

Jack’s eyes cut to the window where Ransom and Holster were scurrying away. “Uh…are you closed?”

Bitty shook his head. “No. And I’ve half a mind to call up the owner to have those two fired and thrown out on their asses.” He took a step back, shaking some of the latte drops from his baking apron. When he looked down, he realised that Jack was, indeed, wearing the crocs. They were yellow, muddled a bit from street dirt, but he had black-socked feet shoved into them and they truly were horrendous. Especially combined with his paint-stained basketball shorts that hung just above his knee.

“Uh,” Bitty said, blinking. The worst part of it all was, as tragic as the outfit appeared to be, Jack pulled it off. Bitty was pretty sure he’d make a burlap sack look amazing. “Laundry day?”

Jack glanced down, the laughed, his cheeks pink with a light blush and he shrugged. “It’s my day off,” he said, as though that explained it. When Bitty looked confused, Jack said, “I have to dress in suits on game day, and on press day, and on roadies if we’re flying. So when I get the chance to just roll out of bed…”

“Were you painting?” Bitty blurted. He glanced round, found a bin beside the bus stop, and pitched the half-gone latte.

Jack’s eyes followed his movements. “Was I…?” He glanced down again. “Hah. Oh, no that was from months ago when I moved into the condo. The previous owners had the kitchen orange. My mother insisted.”

Bitty lifted a brow. “You didn’t just hire someone?”

“It was the off season,” Jack said, yet again with the tone like that explained everything.

This time, Bitty let it go. “Well, um.” Part of him wanted to just blurt out that this was an intervention. That he wouldn’t have tiny bakers thrown at him in the street if he just stopped wearing the crocs—and probably those shorts. Yikes. But Bitty didn’t want to see a look of embarrassment or disappointment in Jack’s eyes. He actually liked the guy. He was nice, and he was friendly, and obviously a little shy. “You want to come in for some pie?”

Jack’s mouth quirked. “Aren’t you locked out?”

“I’m the manager,” Bitty said, and drew keys from his pocket, jingling them in his hand.

Jack chuckled. “Fair. But I was on my way to the farmer’s market.”

Bitty’s face fell, but he attempted to recover before Jack noticed. “Oh. Well, I won’t keep you.”

Jack hesitated, shuffling his feet in the hideous, so-called shoes. “What time are you done?”

Bitty blinked in surprise. “Ah. My shift is done at two.”

Jack smiled. “Okay. Lunch then? I can pick up something and cook.”

Without really grasping on to what Jack was saying, Bitty blurted, “You cook?”

The hockey player laughed. “I dabble. My dad’s an amateur chef, or he likes to think so. Insisted I pick up a few things when I was drafted so I wouldn’t turn into those poor teens buying too much ketchup at Costco.”

Bitty couldn’t help a laugh, but then his entire body erupted into a blush when he realised Jack had just asked him over for lunch. “You uh. Me? At your place?” _Eloquent, Dicky_ , he chided himself.

Jack smiled all the same, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “Put your number in and I can text you. If you want. I promise I’m not that bad.”

“No I,” Bitty said in a rush, then grabbed the phone and tapped his name, then number. “I mean…I trust you. I’ll bring a pie.”

Jack’s smile got even bigger as he took the phone back. “Eric Bittle, eh? Do you like Eric or Bittle?”

“Just don’t call me Dicky,” he said, and when Jack raised a brow, he shook his head. “Long story, and a lot of Georgians. Don’t worry about it. Everyone just calls me Bitty,” he flicked his name badge.

Jack gave him a long, almost appraising look, then said, “See you this afternoon, Bits.”

Nearly on fire by this point, Bitty could do little more than watch him walk away. When he turned his keys into the lock and stepped in, Ransom was holding a chair like a shield, and Holster had the mop like a sword.

“Well?” they demanded at the same time.

“I have a date with him this afternoon,” Bitty said, still in a daze.

The chirps were endless, and Ransom slammed the chair like a football, shattering two legs. Still stuck on the whole, he had a date with Jack Zimmermann, Bitty couldn’t even bring himself to fire them.

*** 

Bitty got the text at half one. It had the address, then, **I hope chicken is okay. And mushrooms. I forgot to ask if you’re allergic to anything.**

_Kiwi, but I think we’re probably safe with chicken and mushrooms. See you soon._

Bitty was impressed with himself and the amount of chill he portrayed in the text, especially as internally he had transformed into a string of exclamation marks and one long screaming sound. He managed to finish up his prep for the next day, though, without mucking up anything too badly, and even managed to ignore the shouted chirps as he let himself out through the back door.

He could see Ransom and Holster with their faces pressed up against the glass as he crossed the street. And out of the corner of his eye caught the flash of a sign crudely drawn on printer paper reading, **END THE CROCS 2k17**

Bitty sighed and let himself into Jack’s building, taking the lift instead of the four flights of stairs. He was met with a sort of spiced smell in the corridor, and he tried to tamp down his nerves as he knocked on the door and waited.

Jack answered a moment later, looking much the same as he had earlier that day, though he’d changed from his paint-stained shorts to joggers, and was wearing a faded black Aces t-shirt.

“Isn’t that like…team treason?” Bitty asked, jutting his chin at Jack’s shirt.

Jack glanced down. “Haha. This was my first team, and my best friend still plays there. We beat them for the cup last year so I’m not committing any crimes.”

“Until they beat you,” Bitty said.

Jack laughed as he led Bitty into the small dining area. “Then it goes into the naughty box at the top of my closet. I have a Bruins jersey in there.”

Bitty couldn’t help his grin. He didn’t know much about Jack Zimmermann, only that he had a hockey robot reputation, but Bitty never really bought that. He hadn’t expected him to be funny though, at least not like this. It wasn’t a surprise his humour was more subtle, but he wondered if maybe the crocs weren’t by accident.

They weren’t anywhere to be found, either.

Bitty accepted a glass of wine and a chair as Jack went back to the food. “I know this is probably unorthodox, but it’s kind of hard to eat out during the season,” Jack confessed as he stirred something in a large pan.

Bitty shrugged, trying to seem more casual than he felt. “I get it. I mean…I don’t get it, but I get the uh. Concept.”

Jack turned and smiled at him. “Are you nervous because you’re nervous, or because you’re a fan?”

There was an edge to the tone, and Bitty felt bad. “I’m…going to feel shitty for saying I’m not a fan but…”

“It’s fine,” Jack assured him, his smile lighter.

“I mean, I’ve seen games, and y’all are amazing, really. But I was always a figure skater so I’m technically supposed to hate you. Secretly though, nice job so far.”

Jack laughed, his gaze back on the pan. “I’ll take it.”

Bitty’s phone buzzed and he opened it up to find a group text with barely legible texts ranging from, ‘Get the crocs,’ to ‘Git it bits!’ and several eggplant emojis. He sighed loudly, and when Jack gave him an inquiring brow lift, he shrugged. “My friends are idiots.”

“Are they the ones who threw you out today?” Jack turned to get plates, and tipped rice, sautéed veg, and some chicken onto each. 

As he set a plate in front of Bitty, the baker sighed. “Yeah. They’re…I mean loveable, but also insufferable. They wanted me to…” Bitty swallowed and looked away. “Whatever, it’s not important.”

Jack gave him a pointed look. “Isn’t it?”

With a flush, Bitty decided he’d better come clean. He found himself actually liking Jack and he wasn’t about to start a potential well…anything, on false pretences.

“They have a vendetta against your crocs,” Bitty admitted, and saw Jack’s eyes widen. “They uh. Yeah. They wanted me to um. Convince you to get rid of them. They seemed to think I was best for the job. I don’t know why,” he added half under his breath.

Jack stared, then sat back. “I do.”

Bitty looked up at him. “Um? Okay…?”

With a sigh, Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his apps. After a second, he passed it over, and there was an image of a smiling guy with blonde cowlicks, an upturned nose with a smattering of freckles, and eyes that looked oddly almost every colour.

Bitty looked up at Jack for explanation.

“That’s my ex boyfriend. Kent Parson. The Aces captain,” Jack said, and waved his hand at his t-shirt. “Also best friend. Your friends assumed you were my type.”

Bitty flushed, and eyed the door in case he needed to make an escape because Jack looked not only offended, but a little upset. “Ah. Well for what it’s worth, they’re morons. The crocs are awful, but I’m not here because of them.”

Jack didn’t look entirely placated. “So if I asked you to dinner and wore the crocs…?”

Bitty stared, then burst into giggles. “Whatever makes your toes happy, Mr Zimmermann. Really, they’re idiots and I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a nice guy.” Bitty took a deliberate bite of the food and then added, “Who makes amazing chicken. Which is a big deal. I’m a baker, after all.”

Jack stared, then his face broke out into a genuine smile and he shifted his chair closer to the table. “Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty shrugged. “They don’t get credit for this though. They’ll never let me live it down.”

Jack chuckled. “Fair. We can call it a spilled latte.” When Bitty’s eyebrows raised in question, Jack said, “It was when I realised I thought you were a little more than cute.”

With a flush, Bitty looked down at his plate. “Okay. I’ll take it.” He startled then, when a warm hand fell over his, and he looked up at Jack who was staring a little intensely, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. “Keep that up, Mr Zimmermann, and you’re going to find yourself kissed here in a minute.”

Jack’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t break their gaze as he said in a low tone, “I’m not finding a lot of reason to stop.”

*** 

It was near to midnight, and Bitty knew he should leave. He had work in a handful of hours, but his lips were kiss-swollen, and his heart was full and beating against his ribs. Jack’s large hands were on him, holding him by the butt as Bitty pressed into him.

Finally pulling away for breath, Bitty pushed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “They are never going to let me live this down.”

Jack laughed, then shifted Bitty over onto the sofa cushion. “Maybe, but I might have an idea.”

Bitty glanced over as Jack rose and left the room, returning a minute later with two pairs of crocs in his hands, one green, the other the hideous yellow. His eyes widened. “Oh no.”

Jack shrugged. “If they think you’ve come to the dark side…”

Bitty threw his head back and laughed, raising one socked foot, and then the other, letting Jack slide them on. He took a seat next, their thighs pressed, feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table as Jack pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

“Help me twitter this,” Jack said, handing it over.

“Lord, this boy,” Bitty muttered, but he chirped through a huge grin as he pulled up Jack’s twitter, and posted the photo.

**@JayZedFalcs: Is it true love? @sirransalot @holtzemfoldem You’re the crocs expert. Does @omgpieplease pull these off?**

Jack peered over his shoulder, laughing as he kissed Bitty’s neck. “This is going to be the start of something…interesting, isn’t it?”

Bitty quickly made Jack follow him before handing the phone back, turning his head, and kissing him properly. “Yes,” he said against Jack’s mouth. “But I’m okay with it.”

Jack grinned, cupping Bitty’s cheek. “Yeah? I think I am too.”


End file.
